


Pained Hands

by Magical_Bot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Rodimus is kind of a jerk, Swerve and Rung are mentioned, could also be read as "Ratchet has Arthritic Hands", so it's more on the angsty side of things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 13:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12036657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Bot/pseuds/Magical_Bot
Summary: After millions of years of abusing his hands for the sake of his profession, Ratchet had figured they would start seizing up. What had started as a dull pain or aching in his joints had now turned into a full-blown, irreversible condition. He simply couldn’t have predicted when the disease would really start affecting his day to day life and had given even less thoughts about the consequences of living with said disease for a mech other than himself.





	Pained Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Would you look at that. A fic from me that isn't a crossover! Whoo!
> 
> This is more of a self-indulgent thing if anything else. I've recently been diagnosed with psoriatic arthritis and the condition really reminded me of Ratchet's hands at the beginning of MTMTE. Looking back on it, I kinda wish he hadn't been miraculously cured by replacing his hands with Pharma's. There are a lot of scenarios specific to his condition that could have been explored so it's kind of a missed opportunity, especially since Ratchet not having hands that functioned at their 100% was an important plot point at the beginning of the series. Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part since I don't know any characters that have a condition like mine that aren't old.
> 
> Anyhow, fanfiction exists to fill in the voids left by the canon storyline, so here is this fic! Enjoy!

 

 

After millions of years of abusing his hands for the sake of his profession, Ratchet had figured they would start seizing up. What had started as a dull pain or aching in his joints had now turned into a full-blown, irreversible condition. He simply couldn’t have predicted when the disease would really start affecting his day to day life and had given even less thoughts about the consequences of living with said disease for a mech other than himself.

 The doctor didn’t mind having to live with this condition for the most part. It was something that came with being an old cybertronian, although not all cybertronians would develop this condition in their late life. Plus, Ratchet had had a more than satisfying and eventful career and, if he was being honest with himself, he was quite eager to pass the torch to someone else. He was hoping to find new, younger CMO to replace him while embarking on Rodimus’ ludicrous journey to find the Knights of Cybertron. Maybe he’d even help save a few more lives along the way.

 Ratchet could deal with the pain and the inconveniences his tired servo joints caused daily at a varying degree. On some days, the pain was barely noticeable to him, and on other days he knew right as he came out of recharge that the following working hours would be difficult. It was a common occurrence for him to smash his servos with a hammer in hope of making them last a little longer so he wouldn’t have to take a break from tiring them out as often. Of course, he’d get scolded by the other crewmembers later for doing so, but with his current status as CMO there wasn’t much they could do to stop him. It’s not like his condition was a secret; in fact he had made sure that everybody he saw often knew of it, as it severely affected his daily work. His body was old and his servos were not working as well as in his youth anymore, and that was that.

 But the one thing the Ratchet couldn’t deal with was the pity that came with it all. Few of the crewmembers actually understood what it meant to live with seizing up servos daily.

 Meaningless actions - the smallest tasks and things that were otherwise taken for granted by most - were now a challenge to fully accomplish without feeling his finger joints seize up painfully. Things like opening a tight-lidded jar, pushing a syringe with precise control, writing, holding a small drink or even opening a hinged door could prove painful if he wasn’t careful. Most healthy cybertronians wouldn’t even have to think twice about accomplishing any of these actions but Ratchet had to find new ways of accomplishing the same tasks to compensate for the pain he was constantly feeling.

 He would use different joints to do the same action as another mech, like opening doors with his shoulders or support them with his hips instead of using his hands. He favored typing instead of having to hand-write anything. He would have someone else take care of the large boxes of medical supplies while he did the inventory. If needed, he padded the handles of his tools with a foamy material to make them more comfortable to hold. Sometimes, he avoided doing any delicate and precise operations for a few hours to let his hands rest. The doctor even got tired more easily than before, and it now wasn’t uncommon for him to have to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon. It wasn’t that he was lazy: it’s just that he was tired and in pain all the time, and there was only so much that his old body could take.

 But sometimes, no matter how careful he was, his servos just wouldn’t cooperate with him and he had to resign himself to ask for help to accomplish the task properly.

 “Swerve, can you help me with Whirl over here? I can’t finish soldering his wound as neatly as usual,” Ratchet asked in a sigh, giving up his task to his temporary assistant. Some mechs had decided to take turns helping him out in the medibay, which Ratchet was thankful for, but he wished it had been under better circumstances. Most of the time, it was Swerve or Rung since both of them had rather nimble hands and had developed skills that could be useful in the medibay. Rung, being old as well, was most of the time comprehensive and refrained from commenting. Swerve, on the other hand, was a completely different story.

 “Oh. Right, of course,” Swerve carefully said as if he was threading the tiniest needle. But the mech’s saddened expression said it all, even with a visor.

 “ _Poor Ratchet can’t even solder properly today_ ”, Ratchet thought to himself. He didn’t need Swerve to say it to understand most mechs on the ship probably thought the same thing by now. They probably all took pity on him for not being able to do what they were easily capable of. He was lucky his assistant didn’t let out a “aww” or a sigh in the same sentence, because otherwise he would have violently thrown his wrench at him without hesitation.

 Most of the time, Ratchet didn’t need help, and he could deal with the new hurdles he had to come through daily. But when he did ask for it, he really wished the others wouldn’t take this much pity on him. He had learned to live with his condition. Why couldn’t they?

 Ratchet looked at Whirl one more time, who was now taken care of by Swerve. The mech hadn’t said anything and his expression didn’t leave any room for interpretation.

 He was grateful for the silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, Ratchet…” Rodimus hesitantly asked as he entered the medibay.

 Oh no. Ratchet knew that look.

 “Get on with it, Rodimus, I don’t have all day.” Ratchet snappily replied.

 “Have you ever thought about, you know… replacing your hands? Building new ones?”

 Of course that was it.

 “No one can build hands like these. And even if I could, they sure as pit wouldn’t be as efficient as before. So no, Rodimus, I will not make or ask for a new pair of hands. I wouldn’t even trust Brainstorm with that task anyway.” Besides, Rodimus hadn’t been the first one to suggest this.

 “Okay… I just thought I’d ask since, you know, you’re one of the best medics and all. We really can’t afford to lose you.”

“I’m still here Rodimus, I just can’t be your CMO for much longer.” For pit’s sake, it’s not like he was dead or anything. He could still perform most tasks with a bit of help and more time, which would make for a bad CMO but a good enough nurse. Besides, he still had all of the experience he had gathered over the years, which could also be useful to train someone else to become a proper CMO. Why couldn’t anyone understand?

 “Right. Of course. Tell me if you need anything,” Rodimus awkwardly finished, finally leaving the medibay. Ratchet sighed and went back to work.

 It was always the young ones that were the most pitiful of him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ratchet continued living with his malfunctioning hands, making the most of everyday and doing his utmost to provide his patients with the best care he could provide. Not counting his bedside manners of course.

 Tonight, Ratchet had been caring for Whirl again because had been into yet another bar fight. The Doctor wondered if any mech had ever enjoyed a fully civilized night at Swerve’s bar, because Whirl had been in his medibay so many times by now that he had stopped counting his visits. The mech might as well consider sleeping here.

 “Whirl, open up this jar of nanite gel for me. I need to apply it to your larger wounds and scratches to heal properly and prevent infections,” Ratchet asked, handing a tightly-lidded jar to his patient while reaching for some other tools.

 Whirl nodded, promptly opening the jar with a clawed servo and giving it back to the medic without saying anything.

 Ratchet stared at the jar and back to Whirl’s face for a second. There was no pity, no sadness in his face. Not that he thought that Whirl was a very emotional person, but still. He quickly finished the task at hand, giving the jar back to Whirl so he could close it tightly before sending him out. The mech would be back soon enough anyway.

 “Whirl?” Ratchet said right before the mech arrived at the door.

 “What?” Whirl said, turning around.

 “Thank you.”

 The mech shrugged and went back to his quarters.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ratchet hadn’t planned on replacing his hands. He really didn’t.

 But when he had visited Delphi with Drift and Pipes, meeting First Aid and Ambulon along the way and discovering Pharma’s dreadful invention of a plague, there had been a brief opportunity for him to take the traitor’s tools away, so he did. He promised himself that he would use his friend’s hands for a much more noble purpose than farming T-Cogs out of dead bodies. It was also a memento from Pharma, in a way. Ratchet prefered remembering him at his best - he had been a fantastic doctor for most of his life after all.

 His days had now mostly come back to normal. It had taken some time for him to readjust to his new hands and being able to perform mundane tasks as well as the other mech on the Lost Light did, but he fared well over all. The constant sadness and pity were gone, and he had stopped asking for help on delicate medical operations.

 "So, you did replace your hands after all, huh?” Rodimus stated, taking a peek at his CMO’s blue hands. “And I thought you couldn’t build hands like these.”

 “I didn’t build them, Rodimus. I took them away from a… friend,” Ratchet dryly replied.

 “Right. Drift told me about it. Anyway, I’m glad you’re back with us.”

 “I was never gone, Rodimus. You just thought I was.”

 “It’s not like that, it’s just -” Rodimus said, trying to save himself from another lecture. “You know what? Nevermind. I’m just happy you’re back to your normal self.”

 “Get out of my Medibay, Rodimus,” Ratchet barked at him impatiently, “You’re not even injured!”

 “Of course. I’ll call you if I need anything,” Rodimus finally finished, waving goodbyes at him.

 Ratchet sighed, taking a look at his servos again. He now had a pair of two perfectly functioning blue hands, which he would paint later to match his own paint job. But more importantly, the pity that had accompanied his old, seizing hands was gone. The difference was especially obvious from mechs like Rodimus, which he had no patience for. At least the captain had been well intentioned for the most part.

 He simply wished it wouldn’t have taken the loss of a friend and a miraculously found new pair of forged hands for it to have happened.


End file.
